Smells Like Sage

I need to do what? Pull my bootstraps up?

It’s not even 8 am yet and I’m stressed.
Oh please, oh please don’t give me that bootstrap speech.
My grandmother, rest her, child of the great depression
used to run me that fucking line constantly.
It’s probably one of the reasons that I’m in therapy now.
Always feeling like I have to soldier on
regardless of what happens to me because if I don’t
it’s all my own fault. I’m not doing enough.
He’s coming to see me later and I have no idea what to do when people make efforts toward me like they like me. I immediately want to cry. I often do.
And yet I have been attacked in every way possible and if I didn’t subconsciously keep pulling up those damn bootstraps after assault and rape and robbery and even being chased out of a bar by a KKK dude on a fucking horse, then what, I’m soft?
He can get in. He can hurt me now.
I’m sure I can figure out the right amount of sad to make others comfortable soon.
I should give all this up and just be a hermit .
Pulling up invisible bootstraps hoping to feel worthy some day.
Why do I try? I’ll never have it so why do I let it control me like this?
Surpassing my contemporaries to find no one will ever love me.
I absolutely already know no one will ever love me so why do I keep on trying to connect? They’ll either hate me or try to use me like I can’t tell sooner or later. It’s all I’m good for.
It’s too late now. I’m so dumb. And yet, here I go again.
Bootstraps huh?